


When You’re Older...

by Ithiel_Dragon



Series: Lessons [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Age of Consent, Arthur goes medieval on some assholes, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Underage Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Red Dead Redemption 2, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, more cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Arthur had taught him most everything else he knew.  It seemed only fitting that Arthur would teach him this too.





	1. Chapter 1

John knew he shouldn’t be here. 

When Dutch and Hosea had first picked John up off the streets when he was twelve, he’d followed Arthur around like a dirty mongrel puppy.  The older men had found it endlessly amusing at the time. Arthur, less so. At twenty two the sour faced youth hadn’t been too keen on having a grungy orphan boy always tagging at his heels.  At least, not at first.

Eventually Arthur had warmed up to him.  Once John had proven he could be useful and was eager to learn.  So Arthur had taught him how to shoot and throw a lasso. How to ride properly and even how to break a wild horse.  He’d helped Dutch and Hosea in teaching John how to read and write. He'd even tried teaching John how to draw, but that was pretty much a lost cause.  As time went on, Arthur let John accompany him when he went hunting, or on trips into towns that didn’t involve robbing or killing.  Arthur had taught him how to play cards, and snuck John his first beer behind Hosea’s back. It had been Arthur who’d sat with him in his tent, an arm around his shaking shoulders offering comfort, while John had cried after killing his first man. 

John learned fast, or maybe Arthur had simply taught him too well.  Because pretty soon, John was expected to start earning his keep just like everyone else in the gang. Sometimes John would go into towns on his own to hustle at cards, or to scout leads for jobs.  His face was still young and innocent enough that most folks didn’t even look twice at him no matter what questions he asked. He was just a curious boy after all…

At sixteen, John didn’t think of himself as a boy anymore.  Even though Dutch and Hosea still treated him like one sometimes.  Arthur was the worst in that regard though. Always leaving him behind on the more dangerous jobs even though John could handle himself in a fight nearly as well as the twenty-six year old.  John might not have the size or muscle mass that Arthur did, but he was quick and knew how to fight dirty. Arthur had taught him that too.

And yet, Arthur had still said ‘no’ when John had asked to accompany him into town tonight.  Sure, the place was a little… rough. Not the kind of town Dutch would have allowed one of the women to go working alone at night.  But John wasn’t a kid, or a woman, and Arthur had been telling John ‘no’ a lot lately… John was beginning to get a little sick of it.  

So, after Arthur had rode out, and once John was sure everyone was too busy with other things to notice him gone, he’d taken his horse and followed.  John kept his distance, just like Arthur had taught him. It was dark and the moon slipping in and out of the clouds barely provided enough light for John to see the path he was on, but in this case it worked to his advantage.  He was able to follow Arthur all the way to town without the older man noticing, which was a feat John was actually pretty damned proud of.

The town was barely more than a few splinters held together by mud.  Dark, dingy, and dirty. A miserable place. Made even more so given a light rain had started up on the ride in.  But it had a saloon. The beer probably tasted like piss, but it was still liquor, and that’s what counted.

He watched Arthur hitch his horse and head inside.  Then John was left sitting out in the rain pondering what he should do next.  If he simply followed the man, Arthur would spot him immediately, and probably drag him all the way back to camp by the scruff of his neck.  John could attempt waiting to go inside until later, when Arthur had a few drinks in him. Less likely to notice him right away, and Arthur was actually a bit nicer when he was all liquored up.  A better chance he’d let John stay then. But John didn’t much feel like waiting outside in the dark and rain until that happened.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of laughter and watched as two men and three women… whores by the look of them… stumbled out of the alleyway beside the saloon.  There was a good chance a back entrance to the saloon was that way. Maybe John could slip in that way then wait out of sight until Arthur had a few drinks and loosened up…

With that plan in mind John quickly moved to hitch his horse and gave the gelding a gentle pat on the nose and a slice of apple from his bag as an apology for bringing him out so late in this weather.  Then he went down the alley where there was indeed a side entrance to the saloon as he’d expected. Once inside John sneezed and shook his head like a dog, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.

No one noticed him.  There was a good chance no one would even care he was there, should they notice him.  No one but Arthur, so John didn’t bother with sneaking around as he made his way towards the main room. 

It was loud and rowdy as most saloons were.  Especially at this time of night, in these types of towns.  Where there weren’t much else for men to do but drink, fight, or fuck to blow off steam.  At this kind of place, one could usually find all three. He was proven right when a fight broke out almost immediately in one corner of the saloon as soon as John entered.  It must have been such a common occurrence that most people didn’t even look up from their drinks to watch.

John spotted Arthur at the bar almost immediately.  The man already had a drink in his hand and a whore in his lap.  John frowned slightly. He’d never liked watching women pawing at Arthur like that.  It happened way too often. Arthur was a good looking man, no doubts about that. Plus he had that dangerous glint in his green eyes that many women seemed to find attractive.  It probably shouldn’t bother John nearly as much as it did… All he knew was that he didn’t like it when someone else took Arthur’s attention away from him.

But since Arthur didn’t even know he was there to begin with, John knew he had no right to be upset.  Plus, if he showed himself now, he’d only make Arthur angry. At least as much as women seemed to fawn over Arthur, he rarely actually took any to his bed.  Especially if he had to pay for it. It was a small comfort while John found a dark corner of the room, out of Arthur’s line of sight, but where John could still watch him easily.  There John waited.

After about an hour John began to get bored.  Saloons weren’t all that much fun if you weren’t drinking.  Or doing much of anything, really. He looked over at a table of men playing poker longingly.  He would have loved to join a game, since they looked to be easy pickings. Arthur was still drinking at the bar and seemed to be in a good mood.  That was a positive sign. The whore was still hanging all over him though, which was less than ideal. Shouldn't she have gone off to sell her ‘wares’ to someone else by now?  It was pretty obvious that Arthur wasn’t buying…

Maybe now was a good enough time to let Arthur know he was there?  There was still a good chance Arthur would drag him back to camp as soon as he noticed him, but maybe he could at least convince Arthur to buy him a drink first. At that point, John was almost wishing another fight would break out, just to give him something interesting to watch.  Not that Arthur wasn’t interesting… but…

John should know better than to have stupid thoughts like that, because almost as soon as it crossed his mind, the door to the saloon suddenly slammed open, making many of patrons in the room jump. Including John.

“Just what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing!” One of the three burly men who stomped inside shouted, and a feeling of foreboding washed over John… even though there was no real reason for it.  The saloon was full of people. There was no reason…

But of course it was the whore in Arthur’s lap who turned at the voice, looking alarmed. 

Ah hell…

Arthur also turned to look at the enraged man stalking up to him with an unimpressed expression.  The man pointed an accusing finger in Arthur’s face.

“Just what the hell you think you’re doing with my woman!”

John prayed Arthur wouldn’t do anything to make the situation worse… but this was Arthur, after all.  He never backed down from a fight, even when it was for dumb reasons. So he wasn’t at all surprised when Arthur grinned tauntingly at the man.

“Obviously something she wasn’t getting from you,” Arthur drawled, sounding almost bored, even as the angry man began to turn an interesting shade of purple in his fury.

“You son of a bitch!”

Arthur didn’t throw the first punch, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the man from throwing himself full into the fight after that.  John was torn. His first instinct was to jump into the fray and help Arthur… even though Arthur didn’t really need helping. Arthur was more than capable of handling himself, especially against three drunk hillbillies that only _thought_ they were tough.  Even when one of them was even taller and broader than Arthur himself.  This definitely weren’t the way John had wanted to announce to Arthur that he’d been tagging after him this whole time.  Not to mention Arthur would probably be extra pissed at him for getting in the middle of of his ‘business’ without permission.

The choice was made for him when Arthur faced off against the larger of his assailants.  One of the three was already knocked out cold on the floor, and the other started approaching Arthur from behind.  Arthur wasn’t paying too much attention to him, trying to keep his head from being bashed in by the huge brute in front of him. So he didn’t see the fucking coward pull a knife.  John saw it though, and immediately his vision swam red.

John could see it clearly in his head.  The bastard stabbing Arthur literally in the back.  Puncturing his liver, kidney, or something equally important.  Arthur collapsing on the dirty beer stained floor, blood pouring out of him in an ocean of red, and nothing to be done about it.  Arthur dying in John’s arms...

Before he knew it, John was rushing forward.  He grabbed a broken bottle up from the floor and used it to stab the man in the neck before he could reach Arthur.  Some women started screaming as John was sprayed in a fountain of blood. The man went down gurgling and choking on his own blood.  Men began shouting angrily. Arthur whirled around and his eyes went so wide upon seeing him it was almost comical.

“John!?”

If Arthur was planning on saying anything else, he didn’t get the chance to as the first gunshot rang out.  Arthur lunged for him immediately, knocking John down behind the relative cover of the bar and began returning fire.  Just their luck someone must have gotten the law. John, stupidly, hadn’t even thought to bring his own guns along. He hadn’t thought he would need them.  So John couldn’t even help.

Luckily Arthur proved again he didn’t really need the help, and when one of the lawmen went down screaming to Arthur’s well aimed bullet, the older man used the distraction to break cover and flee.  Tugging John along with a firm grip on his arm. They raced out the same back way that John has used to enter, and once outside Arthur whistled for his horse.

Arthur shot another man in the head as he rounded the corner, just before the well trained stallion came charging towards them.  Arthur practically threw John onto the horse with so much force he almost tipped over the other side of the saddle. Arthur leaped up behind him not a second later, and John held onto the saddle horn for dear life as Arthur spurred the horse into a fast gallop. 

This wasn’t the first time John had ridden with Arthur.  But it was the first time he’d ridden with him under gunfire, and the difference wasn’t lost on him.  Normally John would have been riding behind the older man. His arms barely able to get all the way around Arthur’s broad torso as he held on.  Now, with Arthur behind him like this, he could use his larger frame as a literal shield for John as they raced away from the men trying their damnedest to kill them.  For some reason, this realization made John angry. Furious even. So furious he was shaking… or at least, that’s the reason he told himself he was shaking so damned much. 

Thankfully Arthur was one of the best riders that John knew.  Even in the near pitch dark of night they were able to lose their pursuers by cutting through the woods.  If John had attempted to weave full gallop through the dark trees like this, he probably would have killed himself or his horse. But of course Arthur made it look easy.

Eventually the sounds of pursuit faded and it was only Arthur’s stallion’s furious hoof beats against the leaf strewn ground.  The horse’s heavy panting breaths of exertion seemed overly loud in the silence of the night as Arthur finally allowed the horse to slow, then stop.  The resulting silence was practically deafening.

Arthur dismounted, and then practically dragged John down off the saddle as well.  He was grabbed by the front of his shirt, then shook like a rag doll as Arthur shouted in his face.

“Just what the fuck were you doing!” he yelled.  John had never heard Arthur sound so angry before, and that was saying a lot.  Rather than being cowed as he might have been any other time, it only made John’s fury flare again and he shoved at Arthur hard.  He must have surprised the older man by doing so, because Arthur actually stumbled back and let him go.

“He was going to kill you!” John shot back, his hands curling into fists at his side, shaking.  Shaking like the blood coating his hands belonged to Arthur instead of some random bastard’s. Arthur scoffed.

“I had it under control!  What the hell were you even doing there in the first place!” 

John went cold as he realized what could have happened… if he hadn’t decided to follow Arthur tonight.  Arthur could have been killed. Arthur could be dead, right now. All over a stupid bar fight.  It could have been days before they knew what had happened...

John felt something warm and wet slide down his cheeks.  God damn it. He was crying. He wasn’t a kid no more. He shouldn’t be crying like this… 

“He had a knife… he was going to…” John whispered, his voice small and trembling as much as the rest of him.  Arthur’s thunderous expression quickly shifted. His eyes widening in alarm, and then something almost like guilt crossed his face.  John felt like punching him.

“Ah hell… Come here,” Arthur said, no longer sounding angry at least as he took a step towards John.  But the sudden pity was almost more than the younger man could take. He twisted out of the way of Arthur’s reaching hands with a snarl.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed.  Or tried to. It came out in more of a sob instead.

“Will you just… come here you stubborn little shit,” Arthur snapped, having to all but lunge for John as he tried to move away again, but this time the older man caught him by the arm and dragged him in.  John growled and slammed his fists against Arthur’s broad chest, but it wasn’t enough to do any real damage. If John had truly wanted to escape, he probably could have. As much as he twisted and spit profanities at the older man, he didn’t really resist it when Arthur hugged him tightly to his chest.  Instead burrowing against Arthur like he was trying to crawl into his skin. Winding his arms around Arthur’s waist tight enough to make the man grunt.  He pressed his face into Arthur's neck.

While he’d been ‘growing like a weed’ according to Miss Grimshaw these last couple years John was still a full head shorter than Arthur and about half as wide.  While a part of him lamented appearing so small and helpless in comparison to the older man, another part of him liked it a little. The height difference gave John the perfect excuse to press his nose into the open collar of Arthur’s shirt, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.  Letting the familiar smell of gun oil, sweat, and tobacco that always seemed to linger around Arthur calm him. Arthur’s strong arms practically enveloped his slim shoulders. John never felt as safe as when the older man held him like this. It seemed way too long since the last time Arthur had done so. 

John’s hands twisted into the front of Arthur’s shirt.  Holding on for dear life as he felt the brush of the older man’s lips against his hairline.  John sobbed again, seeming unable to control it now. Nor could he control the tears that continued to stream down his face, soaking into the collar of Arthur’s shirt. 

“It’s all right.  I’m all right,” Arthur repeated softly over and over as he held John.  Waiting, surprisingly patient, for John to get control over himself. One of Arthur’s hands found its way to the back of John’s head, and began slowly combing his big fingers through his long hair. 

They stood together like that for a long time… at least the rain had stopped by then…

Eventually John ceased shaking and his tears dried up.  His eyes felt sore and ached from all the crying and his nose ran something fierce.  He sniffled loudly and Arthur made a disgusted sound, but he didn’t let John go just yet. 

“Alright now?” Arthur asked, and John managed a faint nod.  Arthur gave him a pat on the back and finally relaxed his hold.  John reluctantly stepped back, rubbing at his eyes and nose with the back of his hand.  Arthur heaved a heavy sigh.

“Come on.  Let’s head down to the river.  It’ll be a good place to camp for the night,” Arthur offered and John’s head snapped up in surprise.  He’d been sure that Arthur would want to head immediately back to camp after this. As though reading his thoughts, Arthur explained, “No way I’m taking you back looking like that.  Miss Grimshaw would have my balls on a silver platter.”

John winced in sympathy.  Because in hindsight, Arthur probably would have ended up in trouble with Dutch and Hosea tonight, regardless of how he brought John back.  Even though it was completely John’s fault for sneaking out after Arthur in the first place, Arthur would be the one reprimanded. Probably for some dumb reasoning, like he should have been more aware, and noticed John following him in the first place.  But even if John felt a little guilty for getting Arthur into trouble, he still would not apologize for following after Arthur.

Because if he hadn’t…

John shuddered again, and noticing this, Arthur wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders.  Probably having misinterpreted it as cold, but John sure as hell wasn’t complaining. He leaned into the bigger man’s warmth as they started walking, John on one side, and Arthur leading his stallion along on the other.  John thought guiltily of how they’d left his gelding behind. Unfortunately there was no way they could go back for the horse. If he or Arthur ever showed their faces in that town again, they’d probably be shot on sight. Most likely the horse would be fine.  One of the others in the gang might even be able to retrieve him once things had calmed down. But even knowing all this, he still felt bad about it.

It didn’t take long to reach the river and Arthur dropped his arm from around John’s shoulders when they arrived.  John immediately missed the feeling. But he said nothing as he watched the older man hitch his horse to a nearby tree. 

Arthur started stripping off his clothes after that, and John knew he would be expected to do the same.  Still, John hesitated. Casting a glance full of trepidation towards the rushing water that had nothing to do with his inability to swim. 

“What are you waiting for?”  Arthur finally demanded.  Gruffly, but not unkind.  Gruff simply seemed to be the older man’s default setting. 

“It’s just…” John cast another look to the river, “cold.”

John was already shivering just thinking about it.  Arthur laughed loudly.

“No help for it, princess.  I’m not letting you sleep in my bedroll covered in blood.  Just get it done as fast as possible. I’ll build a fire when we’re finished,” Arthur told him, and John gave a resigned sigh, before finally starting to strip down.  Arthur was already naked and wadding into river before John even had his pants off. Acting for all the world like he was just taking a dip in a nice cool pond on a hot summer’s day. The bastard wasn’t even shivering. But John knew better. It was barely spring, and with the river coming off the snow from the mountains, the water would be freezing.

John told himself he wasn’t going to give the smug smiling bastard the satisfaction of watching him react to how cold the water was.  But that was easier said than done. His teeth started chattering before John was more than hip deep in the icy river, and as the water came up past his waist, he couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that left his lips. 

“Problem?” Arthur asked, not even bothering to hide his amusement, the prick. 

“My balls are trying to crawl inside my body,” John muttered miserably, teeth still chattering, and Arthur laughed again.  John hadn’t heard Arthur laugh so much in… a while. He must be drunker than John originally thought. Arthur tossed him a bar of soap, because Arthur never went anywhere unprepared, and John said nothing more as he concentrated on getting clean as fast as humanly possible.  He was definitely _not_ looking forward to dunking under the water completely so he could wash his hair free of blood…

He felt marginally better when he finally heard Arthur inhale sharply in discomfort.  So the cold was finally starting to get to him. But John’s planned teasing died in his throat when he looked over to find Arthur washing blood from a good sized gash on his left side. 

“You were shot?!” John practically shouted, earning him a raised eyebrow and frown from the older man.

“It’s just a graze,” Arthur informed him calmly.  But that didn’t stop John from closing the distance between them to check for himself. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” John demanded. 

“I told you.  It’s just a graze,” Arthur repeated.  Which, was true enough. Albeit a nasty one. Still bleeding sluggishly. 

“This is going to need to be stitched,” John informed him, though the older man probably already knew that.  He started to tug Arthur back towards shore, to do just that. Or at least he would have if Arthur didn’t plant his feet and refuse to move like a stubborn mule. 

“It can wait. Finish washing first,” Arthur ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

“Arthur!”

“Finish washing, before I dunk you myself,” Arthur threatened, and John knew from past experience it was not an empty one, “I’ll let you fuss over me all you want after you’re done.”

Somewhat satisfied by that compromise, John went back to scrubbing the bar of soap over his body and hair.  Oddly enough, he didn’t feel all that cold anymore. Arthur was clean long before John was, but the older man still lingered in the water beside him. Arthur never left him alone in the water if he could help it.  Not after John had nearly drowned once soon after he’d joined the gang.

It was the little ways Arthur showed he cared, that touched John the most. 

Though now that John thought about it, they hadn’t bathed together like this for some time.  The last time they’d been further south so thankfully the water had been a little warmer. They’d been arguing about something stupid, which was fairly ordinary.  It had devolved into splashing each other and wrestling in the water like little boys. Nowhere near a fair fight, and John eventually ended up in a headlock, giggling madly, while Arthur tickled him mercilessly. 

It ended when Hosea shouted at them from the shore, and John had never quite heard the older man speak to Arthur like that before.  They’d only been messing around… but Arthur suddenly looked so damned guilty… Afterwards Hosea had spoken to Arthur alone in his tent for over an hour and then… things had changed.  Suddenly Arthur was always too busy to spend time with him. Telling John to go pester one of the other members of the gang. Never letting John go out riding with him alone anymore…

It had hurt.  Even though he still saw Arthur near every day, John missed him.  He missed being alone with Arthur like this, just the two of them.  John still didn’t understand what had caused the sudden change.

“Alright you’re clean enough.  Let’s go before you start turning blue,” Arthur’s voice drew him out of his contemplation.  John followed Arthur back to shore obediently. Arthur had a spare set of clean clothes in his saddle bags, because of course he did.  Unfortunately he only had one set. Arthur put on the trousers and tossed John the shirt to wear. Because it was so damned big, the hem fell to the middle of John’s thighs and he had to roll up the sleeves.  But it was definitely better than putting clothes back on that were covered in blood.

John quickly helped Arthur gather up some wood to use to start a fire, and while Arthur did that, John dug through the saddlebags to get the supplies he’d need to take care of Arthur’s wound.  Arthur had the fire going in no time, and finally sat down in front of it with a low groan. John knelt beside him and offered Arthur the half full bottle of whiskey he’d discovered while searching.  Arthur took a long drink from the bottle, before pouring the rest over the wound to disinfect it. John winced in sympathy, knowing just how much that shit stung. Then he got to work stitching the wound, trying to be as quick as possible.  He wasn’t as good at it as Reverend Swanson (when he was sober) but it would do. He tied a bandage around Arthur’s waist to keep the wound clean once he was finished.

“Thanks, Johnny boy,” Arthur offered, ruffling John’s hair playfully.  A warmth blossomed low in John’s stomach that wasn’t completely unfamiliar and he ignored it by busying himself with putting away the medical supplies.  Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, but John refused to look at the older man. Arthur looked very… appealing right now. Bare chested, with the light from the fire casting him in warm tones. Highlighting his muscles and turning his hair golden… John cleared his throat as he moved to throw more wood on the fire and finally sat down. Pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them for warmth.  The posture also conveniently hid his crotch. Since his dick was now starting to take interest in the situation, now what John wasn’t so concerned about Arthur.

It didn’t help that the older man kept staring at him with a calculating expression.

“You hungry?” Arthur finally asked, and even though John wasn’t really, he gave the older man a vague nod.

“Sure.”

So Arthur rummaged around in his satchel and produced two cans of beans which he proceeded to open and place in front of the fire to warm up.  It wasn’t much, but it would do. Maybe John could try hunting them a couple rabbits or something in the morning before they headed back to camp.  John found himself not looking forward to that, for a variety of reasons.  But mainly Arthur going back to avoiding him after tonight. It was almost worse being reminded of what it had been like before to have all of Arthur’s attention, knowing it was going to be taken away again.  Was it him? Had he done something wrong? Was he being punished?

He watched Arthur from the corner of his eye.  Despite his inner turmoil he couldn’t help noticing again and again how nice the older man looked.  Arthur’s nipples, an appealing shade of dark rose, were particularly distracting. Peaked as they were from the cool air despite the warmth of the fire in front of him.  Nestled in a lovely patch of honey colored chest hair that continued all the way down the older man’s stomach to…

John’s cheeks flushed.  Now wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how nice Arthur looked, of course.  He’d been noticing it more and more for a while now. Arthur’s broad chest, muscular thighs, and of course his ass every time the man bent over.  How big and warm Arthur’s hands felt every time they touched him.  Not to mention his voice… John had begun to sprout wood so often, that eventually Hosea had taken him aside one night late in camp to talk.  The older man had reassured him it was perfectly normal for a boy his age, even while chuckling warmly at John’s embarrassment. Jokingly Hosea had asked him which one of the camp girls John had a crush on… and John had admitted shyly it wasn’t one of the girls. Hosea’s face had gotten a bit funny, then…

The pieces finally clicked into place and John wanted to scream in frustration.  He was such… an… idiot…

“Here,” Arthur said as he handed John a warm can of beans.  The younger man took it and began eating mechanically. Not really tasting anything.  Swallowing hard against the hurt and betrayal welling up in his throat. Because Hosea must have told Arthur and Arthur must have been… bothered by it… Cause it was after that things began to change… No… that wasn’t quite right.  Cause that day he and Arthur had been play fighting in the water, when Hosea had called to them, his voice had been sharp. Scolding. At Arthur, not John… like _Arthur_ had done something wrong.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Arthur remarked around a mouthful of beans.  John shrugged.

“Just thinking…”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Arthur teased, and John punched him in the arm.  Arthur chuckled warmly and the sound made John’s heart ache. So much so he found himself blurting out the next thing that came to his mind.

“Why do you keep treating me like a kid?”  John muttered. Irritated, but also hurt. Arthur looked like he didn’t know what to say, “I ain’t a kid no more, Arthur.” 

Arthur sighed heavily and looked away.

“I know…” he sounded wistful, sad even. 

John scraped mournfully at the bottom of the bean can with his spoon.  Arthur offered him his own unfinished can, and John shook his head. Emotion welling up in his throat again.  Arthur was so good to him at times like this. When they were alone, and Arthur didn’t feel the need to act all angry and tough.  They were sitting so close, that John could lean into the older man’s side. Rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder. John wanted to. The action would have been welcomed without question before.  Now… he wasn’t sure…

“Come on, lets get some sleep,” Arthur told him.  Tossing his empty can away into the bushes, Arthur didn’t wait for John to respond before he was getting up.  The hand that went to his side as he got to his feet proof that the wound still pained Arthur despite how stoic he pretended to be.  John scrambled up quickly after him, determined to do most of the work setting up the tent, so Arthur could rest.

It took no time at all.  The process as ingrained in John as breathing at this point.  Arthur ushered him inside and followed immediately after. This wasn’t the first time he and John had shared a tent, or even a bedroll.  One of the most memorable times had been when they’d been out hunting for a few days and were caught in a freak snowstorm. Arthur had bundled John inside his coat while still wearing it and lain practically on top of him in an attempt to keep him warm until it had blown over.  John had been too cold to really enjoy it at the time, but he thought about that moment often from then on. What else they might have done to stay warm, had John been just a little bit older…

John’s cheeks flushed again where he laid and he was glad it was too dark in the tent for Arthur to notice.  The older man scooted up against his back as he got comfortable and threw an arm around John’s slim waist.  Arthur’s chin ended up propped on the crown of John’s head and John shivered slightly.  Arthur hugged John tighter to his chest in response. Tossing most of the blanket over John to make sure he was warm enough.

John chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, indecision warring in him for a moment, before he came to a bold decision.  He quickly turned in Arthur's arms onto his other side, earning a questioning sound from Arthur. Instead of answering, he tucked his head beneath the older man’s chin, and allowed his hands to come to rest against the warm skin of Arthur’s chest.  Pressed as close together as they were, John could feel Arthur’s heartbeat underneath his ribs. For a moment Arthur did nothing in response to this change, but finally he wrapped his arm around John again and tucked him in even closer. 

“Better?” Arthur’s voice rumbled warmly into his hair, and John nodded.  His cheek rubbed against Arthur's chest hair and warm skin. It made John wonder what it would be like to feel Arthur’s beard rubbing against his own smooth face.  What would Arthur’s lips feel like? Warm probably… Arthur was always warm. Maybe a little rough. Maybe a little soft. What would the strong hand rubbing between his shoulders feel like if there wasn’t the barrier of cloth between their skin? 

John wanted to know.  He wanted… Arthur to be the one to teach him.  Arthur had taught him most everything else he knew.  It seemed only fitting that Arthur would teach him this too.

John turned his head.  Brushing his lips boldly against Arthur’s collar bone.  It could barely be called a kiss, could just as easily have been an accident.  But John still felt and heard Arthur’s breath hitch slightly in response, and that alone was enough to fill John’s belly with fire and bees.  The heat quickly spreading downwards…

“Arthur…” John whispered.  A question. A plea.

Arthur’s breath rushed out of him, stirring the hair on top of John’s head.  John started to lift his head, but Arthur’s heavy hand quickly moved to press it back down. 

“Go to sleep, John,” Arthur ordered, but the sharpness of the words were softened slightly by the way Arthur’s fingers pet gently through his hair.  John swallowed down the hurt that tried to rise up in his throat, nodded faintly, and closed his eyes.

As he was falling asleep, he heard Arthur murmur, “Maybe when you’re older…”


	2. Chapter 2

They set out at first light. 

John had offered to hunt them a couple rabbits for breakfast.  He was willing to do anything to delay their inevitable return to the gang and have a couple more hours alone with Arthur.  But the older man had turned him down with a simple shake of his head. Instead tossing John a package of crackers before he began breaking down their meager camp. 

It seemed like Arthur had sobered up and was already back to being distant towards him.  After the brief closeness they’d shared last night it was almost more than John could bear.  He could only watch Arthur miserably as he chewed on the tasteless crackers. Swallowing them down dry and trying not to choke on the lump of emotion welling up in his throat. 

The ride back was painfully silent.  John sat behind Arthur on the large stallion, holding on loosely to the older man’s waist.  He was so far back on the saddle he was in danger of falling off entirely, but he couldn’t bring himself to close the distance between them.  Afraid of what Arthur would say, or do, if he tried. The last thing John wanted was to do something to make things even worse between them. Though John almost wished Arthur _would_ say something.  Anything. Even if it was only to berate him. Anything would be better than Arthur acting like John wasn’t even there. 

_Maybe when you’re older…_

John wished those words filled him with hope.  But they didn’t. Not with the way Arthur was acting now.  It didn’t make much sense, anyway. So John was old enough to kill a man, but not old enough to sleep with one? He wished that hypocrisy made him angry.  Instead he only felt miserable.

If Arthur didn’t want him, that was one thing.  All he had to do was say so, instead of making up dumb excuses.  But to just… ignore him like this? Like he’d been doing for weeks… Did he disgust Arthur? Maybe Arthur had been disgusted by him ever since Hosea had told him about John fancying him.  Maybe Arthur had only been nice to him last night because John had saved his life. Did Arthur truly hate him now? Had Arthur _ever_ liked him?  Or had he only been pretending all this time?

John sniffled before he could help it, and he felt Arthur tense.  Still, the man said nothing. Not even to tease John about crying like a woman… though Arthur probably wouldn’t have done that anyway.  Not like some of the other men in the gang. Still… it might have been preferable to this awful silence.

They hadn’t even made it out of the woods before John couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Stop,” he blurted.  He must have surprised Arthur because the man actually startled a bit. 

“What for?” Arthur asked, looking at John over his shoulder for the first time, but he didn’t stop the horse. 

“Just… stop damn it!” John snapped, sharper than before, and started squirming to get off the horse before Arthur had even complied.  Arthur reigned in the horse quickly then, if only to prevent John from being accidentally trampled under the hooves as he hopped off the back of the stallion. 

“Jesus, Marston! What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Arthur yelled at him.  But John didn’t answer him. Instead he started walking the other way, ignoring the older man shouting after him.  See how _he_ liked it…

“John!  God damn it, John!”

Instead of stopping, John quickened his pace through the underbrush.  Some of the brambles scratched at his bare legs leaving red welts on his fair skin, but he didn’t care.  He nearly broke into an all out run as he heard Arthur stomping after him, but the older man managed to catch his arm before he could.  Arthur spun him around, looking furious.

“Where the hell are you going!”

“What do you even care!” John shouted back at him, kicking Arthur in the shin, causing the older man to curse loudly, but not loosen his hold on him.

“God damn it!  You little shit,” Arthur growled when John actually went to _bite_ him, “What the _hell_ is wrong with you!”

“Let me go!” John practically screamed, tears suddenly streaming down cheeks, and Arthur _finally_ released him.  Instead the older man raised his hands in a non-threatening manner, at the same time slowly inching around to put himself between John and the direction he’d been heading. John didn’t know whether to laugh or sob.  It wasn’t as though he’d been planning on going anywhere specific.

“Alright.  Alright, just… calm down,” Arthur said, his tone softening once more, like it had last night, and that was just too much for John.  His tears fell freely then as he sobbed like a child, wrapping his arms protectively around himself. Arthur started towards him, his arms open as though to embrace him, and John turned away with a choked sound.

“Stop… just… stop.  Stop pretending like you care…” John whimpered, sniffling through his tears. 

“Pretending? What the hell, John?” Arthur asked, bewildered, and he sounded so earnest John almost believed him.  That only made it hurt more.

“If you hate me just… say so!  Stop pretending one minute and ignoring me the next!  Just…”

“John… Jesus, I don’t hate you.  Come on. Stop being an idiot…” Arthur said, laying a hand on John’s trembling shoulder.  John knocked it away with a snarl.

“I’m not an idiot! Stop treating me like a dumb kid!” John shouted, his eyes blazing as he glared at Arthur.  The older man actually took a step back at his fury, but he recovered quickly and his expression hardened.

“You want me to stop treating you like a kid?  Then stop fucking acting like one, John!” Arthur snapped, and John couldn’t help but flinch slightly at his tone.  Of course Arthur noticed and sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. John sniffled again and tried wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, but it didn’t really do much good.  God… he hated feeling like this.

Arthur paced away from him a few steps, sighed again, then turned to look at him once more.  He looked suddenly very tired, and sounded even more so when he asked, “What do you want from me, John?”

That… was not a question John was expecting.  He wasn’t even sure how to answer either. He… wanted a lot from Arthur.  Probably a lot more than the older man was willing to give. But most of all… he just wanted the easy affection back that they’d once shared.  Maybe Arthur wasn’t lying. Maybe Arthur didn’t _hate_ him.  The… indifference.  That was so much worse than hate…

“I just… want things to be like they were before,” John finally answered.  It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was good enough for him.

His heart broke when Arthur shook his head.

“That can’t happen, John.  I’m sorry,” he said, sounding truly regretful.  It twisted something painfully in John’s chest.

“Why?” John whispered, his voice sounding as shattered as he felt.  Arthur was silent a long time and when he finally answered, it wasn’t with words.  Instead Arthur closed the distance between them, took John’s face between his hands gently, and leaned down to kiss him.  John’s eyes went wide in shock and his heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest.

He’d never been kissed before.  He had no idea what to do. It wasn’t anything fancy.  Just lips touching, barely moving, and no tongue involved.  It was practically innocent all things considered. But it still made John’s heart race and his stomach feel like it was full to bursting with fireworks.  Unfortunately before he could even attempt to figure out what he was supposed to do, Arthur was already pulling away.

“That’s why,” Arthur said softly, stepping away from John, “and you ain’t ready for that.”

John could only blink at Arthur for several moments, trying to understand what Arthur was getting at.  It took some time before his brain finally began to operate normally again. Even then his heart continued to beat an excited rhythm against his rib cage.  Arthur had just kissed him...

“I’m ready,” he insisted.  Arthur actually had the nerve to laugh.

“You’ve got no god damn idea what you’re even asking for,” he replied dismissively and John frowned.  Maybe… maybe that was partly true. Despite the general lack of privacy in the gang, there were certain rules when it came to that kind of thing.  A certain amount of discretion was expected. Probably Hosea’s efforts to shelter the ‘kid’ even though John didn’t feel like he needed much sheltering anymore. 

But John wasn’t as naive as Arthur thought either.  He’d lived on the streets alone a good couple years before Dutch had found him.  He knew what some of the other boys did to earn extra money from men willing to pay for it.  John had never done it himself though, and had shot a man who’d once tried to take what John had never offered.  He said none of this, however. Swallowing down an angry retort, trying not to ‘act like a kid’ in Arthur’s words. 

“Maybe I don’t… but you could show me,” John offered, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip nervously.  He didn’t miss the way Arthur’s eyes dipped down to watch the quick motion. It made the heat still swimming in his belly from the brief kiss sink even lower.  He shifted from foot to foot, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes, “I _want_ you to show me.”

If he was reading things right, it seemed like Arthur wanted it too… Instead Arthur shook himself and looked away.

“I can’t…”

“Why?”

“You’re too young to understand,” Arthur replied, and John balled his fists at his side in frustration.

“I killed a man last night!” he snapped, and that caught Arthur’s attention who finally looked back to him with wide eyes, “You think I’m old enough for _that_ , but not this?”

John knew that wasn’t completely true.  In fact, Arthur tried damn hard to keep John out of the gang’s business if he knew there’d probably be killing involved.  But that didn’t really matter though, because John _had_ killed before.  No doubt he would again, whether Arthur thought he was ‘old enough’ for it or not.

“It’s _unnatural_ ,” Arthur finally hissed, and that made John flinch slightly.  Though the way Arthur said it… it didn’t seem like something Arthur believed himself.  Besides, why would Arthur kiss him if he thought it was so wrong? It didn’t make sense… then the man continued, “I promised Hosea I wouldn’t touch you…”

That confirmation of John’s suspicions hurt more than he thought it would.  

“He had no right,” John growled bitterly, and Arthur frowned.

“Don’t be like that.  He’s only trying to look after you, John,” Arthur admonished, “Men get hanged for that kind of thing in most places.”

John felt some of his anger drain away even though he still wasn’t pleased by the meddling.  Hosea was like a father to him. Dutch too. But John still felt more than a little betrayed that Hosea would try to come between him and Arthur like this.  Even if he _was_ trying to protect John somehow… the last person John needed protecting from was Arthur.

“It ain’t Hosea’s decision,” John finally whispered, slowly moving towards Arthur.  Arthur watched him with wary eyes, but he didn’t shy away this time, “It’s about what I want… and what you want.”

Soon they stood close enough that John could feel the heat of Arthur’s skin even without touching him.  John wanted so much to be closer. For Arthur to hug him like before. For Arthur to kiss him again… maybe even more than kissing.  He looked up at the older man with hopeful longing.

“You know what I want.  What do _you_ want, Arthur?”

Arthur looked looked torn.  John chewed on his lower lip, and shifted nervously in spite of himself. Finally Arthur let out a harsh breath and moved to wrap his arms around him.  John closed his eyes, a relieved sob catching in his throat as he pressed himself into Arthur’s chest. Soaking up the other’s warmth like a sponge.

“You’re sure about this…” Arthur said, and John nodded even though it wasn’t really a question.  The older man let out another sigh, “Alright… just, give me time to think about it.”

He nodded again.  Even if Arthur decided he didn’t want… more. He hoped that at least they could still have this. 

“Alright, come on.  We need to get back,” Arthur suggested and they parted with no small amount of regret on John’s part.  The older man led John back towards the stallion who was happily grazing away on some grass not far away, too well trained to have wandered far despite their unexpected dismount. 

This time when John rode behind Arthur, he didn’t hesitate wrapping his arms tightly around the older man as he normally would.  Even going a little further and resting his cheek between Arthur’s shoulder blades. Arthur didn’t protest the extra closeness, and John didn’t draw back a respectful distance until they neared camp.

Their arrival produced quite an uproar, but John had been pretty much expecting it.  Arthur did most of the explaining, and they were both chastised loudly and at great length from Dutch, Hosea, and Miss Grimshaw for worrying them all to death.  John was given extra chores, and Arthur assigned extra guard duty as punishment. But all in all, John couldn’t feel too much regret over it. 

Because that night as they all gathered around the campfire to eat dinner, Arthur sat down on the log beside John for the first time in a long while.  So close that their thighs brushed, and John offered the older man a quick shy smile before turning back to his stew.


	3. Chapter 3

Leaning back against a tall oak tree, Arthur slowly inhaled on the cigarette clamped between his lips.  Held the smoke in his lungs, savoring the burn for as long as possible, before letting it finally escape in a long exhale. 

Several more used cigarettes laid scattered in the leaf litter around his boots.  He probably shouldn’t have smoked as many as he had, given that he was nearly out, and had no way to replace them once they were gone.  Much as he liked smoking, it wasn’t worth ending up shot dead in the street just to buy more. Which is exactly what would happen if he tried showing his face in the only nearby town with a general store. 

What a goddamn mess.  If Dutch didn’t have important business in the area, the gang probably would have been long gone already.  Arthur let another puff of smoke escape through his nose in a frustrated huff. He shifted the rifle in his hands from one shoulder to the other. 

He hated guard duty. 

Arthur let his eyes drift away from the woods he was supposed to be monitoring, back towards the clearing where the gang had set up camp.  It was a decent spot. Well secluded. A small stream not far away where they could get water, and even fish if they needed. There was good game in the woods too, so no risk of them going hungry. 

Everyone in the camp was going about their business as usual.  His eyes eventually settled on a dark haired figure sitting on a fallen log by the campfire.  A big bag of potatoes sat next to John, and the boy was in the middle of peeling them for their new cook. A burly former sailor by the name of Mr. Pearson.  Arthur knew well that particular chore was one John hated, which was exactly the point. Part of Miss Grimshaw’s punishment for John for sneaking out without telling anyone. 

Just like the guard duty was part of Arthur’s.  All things considered, Arthur probably got off on the lighter end.  If one didn’t count feeling like he wanted to crawl in a hole in die every time Dutch looked at him with that particular frown.  Much as he hated guard duty, Arthur hated disappointing Dutch even more.

Arthur tossed down the finished cigarette and stomped it out roughly among the others. 

Dutch had made it quite clear that their little mishap in town the other night was going to make it more difficult for the gang to complete their business.  The reprimand had hurt as bad as if Dutch had simply hit him instead. Guilt clawed in Arthur’s stomach like a rabid animal even though what had happened hadn’t really been their fault.  Things had just… gotten out of hand. But that didn’t really matter. The results were still the same.

Though in all honesty, the look Hosea had given him when he and John had rode into camp that morning had been even worse than Dutch’s disappointment.  Considering Arthur had been without a shirt and John without any pants, he knew well what it looked like to the old man. It wouldn’t really matter if Arthur tried to explain that nothing had happened, he knew Hosea wouldn’t believe him. 

Especially when it wasn’t quite true.  The brief, sweet, kiss he’d shared with John in the woods still haunted Arthur’s mind.  Fondness mixed with immeasurable guilt.

He shouldn’t have done it…

Arthur had known what he was like for a long time.  Knew that he liked looking at men’s muscular bodies as much as women's soft curves. His real father must have seen something of that 'wrongness' inside of him, even as a boy, as often as the man had tried to ‘beat the sin out of him’ whenever he got drunk.  One would have thought that would have turned Arthur off from the idea entirely. Instead, it had only made him curious what the big deal was, even before he was really old enough to understand what sex really meant. Or maybe he’d sought it out just to spite the bastard.

He’d been a little younger than John was now when he kissed his first boy behind a barn in a little no name town in the middle of nowhere.  It had been… nice. Different from kissing girls. Maybe the danger in getting caught had made it more exciting? He didn’t know. But it certainly hadn’t been the last time, and Arthur hadn’t stopped at just kisses. 

It wasn’t until Dutch had caught him in the back of a saloon with another young man that Arthur began to realize just how wrong his inclinations were.  It was the first and only time that Dutch had actually struck him. Arthur hadn’t even heard what Dutch had shouted at him through the ringing in his ears while he cradled his bruised jaw. All he knew was it sounded far too much like things his real father had said to him for his liking.

Arthur almost left the gang that night.  It was Hosea who’d found him as he was trying to sneak out with his horse.  The older man had been in tears as he told Arthur he still loved him like a son, no matter what, and begged him to stay. The next day Hosea and Dutch had gotten into a shouting match like nothing Arthur had heard before or since. Afterwards Dutch had apologized profusely to him and even hugged Arthur with tears in his eyes. Arthur had forgiven him, but ever since then he knew that was a part of himself he would always have to keep hidden away, even from the men he thought of as family. 

None of them had never spoken of it again. 

Until the day Hosea had caught him and John wrestling in the river when they were supposed to be bathing.  Even though it had been entirely innocent… Hosea hadn’t seen it that way. He supposed he couldn’t blame Hosea for worrying that Arthur might… pass his inclinations on to John.  Even if the accusation, as veiled as it was, made Arthur sick to his stomach. He knew it hadn't come from a bad place.  Hosea just didn’t want to see either of them getting hurt.

Arthur had sworn to both himself and Hosea that he’d never touch John.  Not like that.  Hell, he hadn’t even _thought_ of John that way until Hosea had brought it up in the first place.  But after that he couldn’t help but notice things he hadn’t before. Like how John’s gaze would follow him around and linger longer than was appropriate.  Especially if Arthur was half dressed at the time.

He’d tried distancing himself from the boy after that.  As much as he hated to do so. John had become such a bright spot in his life in the few years they’d known each other. Like a brother he’d never had. The last thing Arthur wanted was to lose that but… He didn’t want John to be like him. To have the same urges as he did.  To feel like he could never really be himself without the risk of losing everything. Arthur wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

But if nothing else, John was a persistent little bastard.  The more Arthur tried to pull away, the tighter John held on.  Arthur couldn’t help but smile faintly. It was what had endeared him to John in the first place. John was never one to give up easily. 

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that while John was young, he wasn’t _actually_ a boy anymore.  Yes, he was a bit small for his age and thin as a waif.  His face was still soft, and more boyish than that of a man. Arthur knew that had a lot to do with John living in the orphanage and then on the streets for so many years where there wasn’t near enough food to go around. He had a lot of growing to make up for, and only time would fix that.  But he was still a young man, not a boy. A beautiful young man. Arthur couldn’t deny that as much as he tried to.

Claiming that his objections stemmed solely from John’s youth was a flimsy shield at best and John had a point.  If John was old enough to kill, he sure as hell was old enough to love. Arthur had no right to try to tell him otherwise.  John could make his own decisions, ill advised or not. John had made it clear what he wanted, now it was up to Arthur to decide whether or not it was worth the risk.  His head told him one thing. His heart told him another… or maybe it wasn’t his heart so much as his cock talking.

Arthur couldn’t deny how good it felt waking up with John in his arms that morning.  Pressed so close not even air could come between them. One of John’s slender thighs had wormed its way in between Arthur’s at some point during the night and had pressed firmly against his morning erection.  Still half asleep and hungover it was all Arthur could do not to rut against the younger man seeking some kind of release for the ache in his loins. Shame had soon followed that instinct, and Arthur quickly separated from John, thankfully without waking him in the process.  He’d relieved himself quickly in the trees, and felt nothing but disgust at himself rather than satisfaction afterwards.

He never should have kissed John.  It had only confused things between them even more.  They’d both been overly emotional at the time and… it had been a mistake.  It didn’t matter how sweet, soft, and _good_ John’s lips had felt against his own.  Or the quiet eager noises John had made as their lips connected the first time.  How it made Arthur feel when John clung to him like he was trying desperately to hold onto the most important thing in his life…

He’d told John he needed time.  To think. To decide. He knew what he _should_ do. He should explain to John why they couldn’t do this.  He should tell him they should just go back to the way things had been, even though Arthur himself had already claimed that couldn’t happen.  He should…

John suddenly looked up and glanced his way, like he’d sensed Arthur staring at him all along.  The boy smiled at him so sweetly that it made Arthur’s heart tumble in his chest. He could imagine John smiling at him like that in the dark. Soft, and a little shy, but eager as he took off his clothes for him.  Eager for the lessons he only wanted Arthur to teach him. He could imagine John clinging to him much like he'd done previously. Blunt nails digging into Arthur’s bare back, and long coltish legs wrapped around Arthur’s hips as he moved between them. Those same eager sounds falling from John’s lips, only louder, interspersed with soft moans of pleasure and pleas for more, harder, deeper…

Arthur forced himself to look away before he did something foolish.  But it didn’t stop the flush from rising to his cheeks or the tightening in his groin. 

What the hell was he doing?

 

* * *

 

Hosea sat in front of his tent, a book open in his lap though he wasn’t actually reading it.  Instead his eyes drifted between his two boys. One sitting by the campfire peeling potatoes, the other standing out further in the woods.  But not so far away that Hosea couldn’t see the looks that passed between the two of them.

Hosea sighed in regret. 

If it were up to him, Hosea wouldn’t have thought much of it.  Boys would be boys. Boys liked to experiment. Try new things.  Hosea himself had experimented too, once upon a time. If it were up to him, he might have even been relieved that John had turned to Arthur for this.  Arthur, for all his outward gruffness, had a kind heart and a gentle way with those he cared for. Arthur would never even think of harming that boy. They would be good, kind, and most importantly, safe with each other. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just up to him. 

“I thought you said you’d take care of this,” Dutch said as he came to stand beside him, and Hosea sighed again.  This was an old argument. One that had never fully been resolved. Merely pushed aside. Hosea had never quite forgiven Dutch for nearly driving Arthur away that night.  They’d been so close to losing him forever… Dutch might have apologized for his actions and sworn never to repeat them, but he hadn’t changed his way of thinking.

Dutch was surprisingly tolerant of many folk when others weren’t.  Judging men by their character, and not trivial things like the color of their skin or accent.  But he supposed… every man had their limits.

“They’re just boys being boys, Dutch.  There’s no harm done,” Hosea tried again anyway.  Even knowing it was a fight he wouldn’t win.

“Arthur is hardly a boy anymore.  He should have found himself a woman and left all this nonsense behind by now,” Dutch responded, “I won’t have him filling John’s head with… those kinds of ideas.” 

Hosea pressed his lips together tightly in irritation.  He almost pointed out how John had admitted to fancying Arthur _first_ , before Arthur was even _aware_ of it.  But he doubted that would make much of a difference in Dutch’s mind.  It would probably only make matters worse.

“Take care of it, Hosea.  Or I will.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been near a week since John had snuck out after Arthur and followed him into town.  The extra chores he’d been given as punishment had certainly been a pain in the ass, but John reminded himself every day that it was worth it.  Because Arthur was alive. Pissed off with having to pull extra guard duty all week, but alive, and that’s what counted.

So, John put up with his extra assignments without complaint, as he might have any other time.  No matter how boring or tedious they may be. Seeing this, Miss Grimshaw began to relent a bit and started allowing him a little more free time.  The woman had always had a bit of a soft spot for John and he shamelessly exploited it.

“Alright, get.  Go find something to do, and stay out of trouble,” Susan told him, the soft smile she gave him gentling the warning in her tone.  John didn’t need to be told twice, grinning and immediately rushing to his tent for his fishing pole.

While he still wasn’t allowed to leave camp, he _was_ allowed to go down to the stream.  John didn’t really like fishing all that much.  He found it a bit boring. But it was certainly better than hauling around bags of feed, chopping wood, or helping Mr. Pearson with the cooking.  God, he hoped he never saw another potato as long as he lived…

On his way out of the camp John cast a brief look of longing towards where Arthur stood (on guard yet _again_ ).  Fishing would probably be a lot less boring if Arthur could come with him.  Arthur didn’t much like fishing either, but he’d probably prefer it to guard duty and they hadn’t had any time alone together since they’d returned to camp.  John had a feeling that was intentional.

But while Miss Grimshaw might have been weak to John’s ‘puppy dog’ eyes as Arthur called them, Dutch was not.  Dutch had been pretty hard on Arthur ever since they’d returned to camp. Much more so than John, even though John was the one at ‘fault’ for sneaking out in the first place.  Arthur certainly hadn’t _asked_ him to tag along.  John had tried explaining this to Dutch, briefly, a few days ago, but the older man had brushed him off.  Told him he’d understand when he was older.

John was really beginning to hate those words. 

John had tried apologizing to Arthur one night, but he’d brushed his apology off near the same as Dutch had.  Though Arthur had been kind about it, telling John not to worry himself, John couldn’t help it. He didn’t like the idea of Arthur being in trouble because of him.  He had to think of some way to make it up to Arthur. To make Dutch understand. John figured he’d have plenty of time to think about how to do that down by the stream that afternoon.

Those plans became derailed however when John neared the stream and saw he wasn’t the only one who’d had the same idea of coming here.  Really, John should have expected it beforehand. Because unlike him, Hosea actually _loved_ fishing. 

John started to turn.  Deciding to head back to camp and find something else to do.  But before he could, Hosea turned around, having heard his steps through the thick leaf litter on the ground.  The older man beamed at him.

“John, my boy.  Come to do some fishing? Sit down, there’s plenty of room,” Hosea said warmly, patting the space beside him on a fallen log. 

John hesitated.  He’d been trying to avoid the older man as much as he could this past week.  Still bitter with him for having divulged his secret to Arthur in the first place.  For making Arthur avoid him, and letting John think that Arthur hated him… He knew Arthur didn’t want him to blame Hosea or be angry with him… but… He couldn’t just forgive that so easily. 

Hosea noticed John’s hesitation and his expression fell slightly.  John hated how guilty it made him feel. Arthur probably would have cuffed him on the back of the head and told him to stop acting like a spoiled child if he were there.  That more than anything got John’s feet moving, carefully making his way over to the edge of the stream and sitting down on the log. Though he stared down at the pole in his hands rather than look at the older man.  He heard Hosea sigh heavily.

“I think I owe you an apology, my boy,” Hosea finally said after a long time.  That... was not what John had been expecting, and his head snapped up to stare at the other man in shock in spite of himself.  Hosea offered him a faint, sad, smile.

“You told me something in confidence… and I betrayed that trust.  That was unacceptable, and I hope one day you can forgive me,” Hosea went on earnestly.  John looked down again, shuffling his feet in the dirt, not really sure how to respond. He was glad it seemed Hosea didn’t expect him to, “Please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt either you or Arthur.  Quite the opposite, in fact.”

John gave a faint nod.  Arthur had said as much too.  That Hosea had only been trying to look out for his well being.  While John could maybe understand that… it still didn’t erase all the hurt Hosea’s meddling had caused. 

He felt the older man place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and John tensed but he didn’t pull away.  Not yet at least.

“I love you, my boy.  You and Arthur both. Please, don’t ever doubt that,” Hosea said softly.  Emotion welled up in John’s throat and he ducked his head, hiding his face behind the fall of his long hair.  He sniffled softly but refused to let any of the tears burning in his eyes fall. He needed to stop crying like a fucking child all the time.  How could he ever expect Arthur, Hosea, or Dutch to start treating him like an adult otherwise? Hosea squeezed his shoulder gently.

“I know your relationship with Arthur has… been changing,” Hosea continued, speaking even softer than before.  Low enough that John had to nearly lean closer to even hear him. John cleared his throat and shrugged slightly. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” John finally said, some of his bitterness at the whole thing slipping into tone despite his best efforts. 

“Surely Arthur has told you-” Hosea began, but John cut him off.

“Yeah.  Men get hanged for that kind of thing.  Men get hanged for robbing and killing too, and we do that all the time,” he said.  Hosea sighed softly.

“You’re right about that, of course.  The difference is, with the robbing and killing, you only have to be concerned about the law dealing out punishment if you were caught. None of us would let that happen. But... not so many are accepting of ‘unnatural acts’ between men. Even some of the people closest to us… have problems with it,” Hosea explained hesitantly, and that made John pause.  He’d long since come to view the gang as a family. Sure, John was closer to some than others, but he’d always considered himself safe... accepted... as long as he was with the gang.  

Now he wondered if he should worry what some of the others in the gang would think if they knew about him and Arthur.  What would Bill, Trevor, or Clark say, or do, if they found out? Would Miss Grimshaw, or even Dutch, treat them different?

“You think someone would hurt me or Arthur because of that?” John asked, finally turning to Hosea in disbelief. 

“No!” Hosea was quick to reassure, shaking his head, “Of course not.  We’d never let that happen. But… it could cause some problems still. And Dutch has a responsibility to everyone in the gang…”

John dropped his gaze and chewed on his lip thoughtfully.  Was this why Arthur was so quick to push John away when he’d learned of John’s feelings? John knew a lot of the gang thought pretty low of him.  He was just the ‘dumb kid’ after all. Not much use. Just another mouth to feed… but Arthur was different. He was good at everything, and well respected by the others.  John didn’t care much about his own reputation being ruined, but Arthur? What if to 'keep the peace' Dutch was forced to make John or Arthur leave the gang?  It wouldn't be the first time someone was kicked out... but John had never thought it could be him or Arthur.

He’d told Arthur what they felt was between them and them alone.  It was their decision, not anyone else's. But as Arthur tried to tell him, it was more complicated than that. It wouldn’t just affect them, but could affect the whole gang. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe he _was_ too young to understand.  But he thought maybe he was beginning to. 

“I’m sorry…” John finally whispered and Hosea moved to wrap his arm around his slim shoulders. 

“Oh no, my boy.  You’ve got nothing to apologize for.  No harm has been done. But you see why these matters can be… complicated?” Hosea asked, and John nodded.  Hosea patted him gently on the back.

“You’re young.  I wish I could say feelings get less complicated with age, but really, that isn’t the case.  Quite the opposite, in fact, just in different ways. But you’ll find a nice girl one day. Fall in love, and things will make a bit more sense than they do now,” Hosea reassured him and John hid his frown behind the fall of his hair. 

He couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else as much as he wanted Arthur.  He couldn’t imagine trusting or caring as much for some stranger… a girl or woman… There was nothing wrong with them, they were pleasing enough to look at, he supposed but… not like Arthur.  No one was like Arthur. John didn’t _want_ anyone else… but… he knew how much the gang meant to Arthur.  How could he ask Arthur to risk that, for him, of all people?

John said nothing.  Merely nodded faintly and Hosea patted his back again reassuringly.  He wished it made him feel better… all John really wanted to do was to run back to camp and bury himself in Arthur’s arms.  Would he even be able to ask Arthur for a hug anymore without everyone watching and judging them?

“Come on, then.  How about we do some fishing and put our minds on other matters for a while…”

John nodded again, but he could honestly say he had absolutely no enthusiasm in the activity anymore, and he'd had very little to begin with.  Still, he obediently baited his hook and cast his line. He stared out in the stream, watching the sunlight rippling across the surface, while Hosea chatted softly about everything and nothing.  John didn’t even bother to reel in and re-bait his hook when he felt it being nibbled at by fish.

He didn’t catch any fish that afternoon, and shrugged off Hosea’s reassurances that he’d do better ‘next time’ if he wanted to try go fishing again later.  John returned the fishing pole to his tent and dropped it in the corner. Then after a moment he picked it up again and snapped it in two.

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, John was in a foul mood for the next several days. 

Arthur noticed immediately of course, and cast John several concerned looks over dinner that night.  John ended up returning his bowl mostly untouched to the stew pot and went to bed early, claiming he didn’t feel well.  He must have looked quite the sight since no one even questioned whether he was really sick or not.

At one point John heard the familiar tread of boots outside his tent flap, but a moment later heard Hosea call Arthur’s name from across the camp.  The footsteps moved away and did not return that night. John buried his face into his bedroll to muffle his tears and curse himself for being such an idiot. 

The next day Dutch, Arthur, and some others rode out to do a job.  A fairly big one, since it seemed to take most of the gang. For the first time John didn’t ask to accompany them.  He stayed in his tent all morning until Hosea eventually coaxed him out at lunch time. John had gone, though he still didn’t eat much.  Earning him a troubled frown from the older man before John slinked back into his tent. At least Miss Grimshaw didn’t come find him to do chores that day, or the next.  Hosea refused to let him completely skip dinner or breakfast, but he still couldn’t exactly force John to eat.

The third day Hosea fetched John from his tent again, but this time it wasn’t for a meal.  Apparently he’d finally managed to track down John’s horse that had been left in town that night.  While it lifted the young man’s mood to see the gelding safe and sound, it didn’t completely ease his depression.  It did however give John an idea.

That night after most everyone in camp had gone to bed, John crept silently out of his tent and went for his horse.  The gelding nickered happily at him upon seeing him, and John took a moment to pet the animal affectionately before quietly leading it out of camp.  No one noticed when he hopped onto the horse and rode away.


	5. Chapter 5

Robbing trains carrying payroll was always a risky business.  There was always at least a few guards carrying guns on board, and a greater chance of the law getting involved as well.  These kinds of jobs needed to be planned out carefully. Everyone involved had to perform their assigned tasks perfectly to avoid the possibility that they’d end up shot, captured by the law, or god forbid, dead. 

The heist had gone off almost without a hitch.  Almost. Arthur really only had himself to blame for getting shot, since his head hadn’t been completely in the game.  If he’d been smart, he should have bowed out when Dutch asked him to come along. But he’d been so damned excited by the prospect of doing something _other_ than goddamn guard duty…

All things considered, it could have been a lot worse.  The bullet had gone clean through his thigh. It hurt like a bitch, but he’d live.  It was far worse having to listen to Bill going on and on about how he’d screwed up.  Even if it _was_ his fault.  He’d not checked the bodies like he should have to make sure they were good and dead.  Once Arthur had been distracted one of the injured men had managed to get the jump on him and… god damned Bill Williamson had to save his ass. The look of concern Dutch leveled on him when Arthur limped out of the train car, followed quickly by disappointment as Bill loudly explained what had happened, had almost been worse than getting shot in the first place. 

He’d never live that down ever. 

It was the middle of the night when they finally made it back to camp. Arthur had sucked down half a bottle of whiskey on the ride back, cause riding with a bullet hole in the leg was never pleasant.   He drank the rest of the bottle for good measure while Reverend Swanson patched him up. Hosea hovered in concern for a while before Arthur waved him off. He was tired, pissed off, and just wanted to fall onto his cot and sleep for a week. 

Still, as Arthur made his way carefully towards his own tent, he couldn’t help but pause a moment outside of John’s.  It was his concern for the younger man that had led to his distraction in the first place. John had been so damn despondent the last couple of days… barely coming out of his tent for dinner.  He hadn’t even come out when they’d rode back into camp that night, and usually John would have been _right_ there at the forefront.  No matter how late it was.  Eager to make sure everyone had returned safely, and listen to stories on how the heist had gone down.

Arthur had wanted to go to John that first night he noticed something was wrong.  Hosea stopped him of course. Explained that he’d spoken to John, and suggested giving the boy a little space instead.  Arthur had been furious, and Hosea had been completely understanding and sympathetic. Damn him.

“You know how Dutch is,” Hosea finally said, and Arthur could only sag in defeat then.  Yes, he knew. All too well. Maybe Hosea was right. Maybe it was better this way, in the end.  John didn’t need all the baggage that came along with what he was asking for. It would be much better if John simply found a nice sweet girl and… He could do far better than Arthur, at any rate.  John was young. He’d get over it.

But the least Arthur could to was check up on him. 

“John?  You awake? Can we talk?” Arthur spoke softly outside of the tent, just in case the younger man was asleep.  As unlikely as that might be. There was no answer and Arthur frowned. He almost walked away, figuring he’d try talking to John in the morning instead.  But something about the utter silence unnerved him and made him pull aside the tent flap to check inside. Even in the dark he could see there was no one there, and Arthur went cold all over. 

He turned around and stalked back towards where Hosea and Dutch were talking quietly by the campfire.

“Where’s John!” Arthur shouted without preamble, uncaring who he woke up with the noise he was making. 

“Arthur?  What are you talking about? Calm down…” Dutch admonished, but Arthur had reached the end of his patience with all this nonsense. 

“He’s not in his tent!  Where is he!” he yelled at Hosea, who paled and looked over to where the horses were hitched.  Arthur followed his gaze, but as far as he could tell, all of their horses were accounted for. If John had left he couldn’t have gone far...

“Oh no…” Hosea whispered, and Arthur’s stomach dropped even before the older man began to elaborate, “We were able to get John’s horse back from town…”

“God damn it!” Arthur fumed, turning to Dutch with blazing eyes, “This is all your fault!”

Dutch looked stunned for a moment, before his expression hardened. 

“Now see here boy-” Dutch began, but was cut off by Arthur’s fist connecting with his face, making him stumble back and land on his ass.  It was so unexpected… for both men… that Dutch could only stare up at Arthur, utterly gobsmacked while blood trickled from his broken nose.  Arthur stood frozen as well, his fist still raised, barely even feeling the sting in his knuckles. Then he turned abruptly and started for his horse as quickly as his wounded leg would let him. 

“Arthur!” he ignored Dutch’s shout, and hoisted himself into the saddle without looking back. 

“Arthur, wait,” it was Hosea this time, and Arthur glared at the older man standing beside his horse.  His expression actually made Hosea step back a bit, but he didn’t retreat, “I’ll come with you. We’ll find him, I promise…”

“You’ve done enough,” Arthur growled, before he spurred his horse away.  He kept telling himself John couldn’t have gone far. Not at this time of night.  There was only one road near their camp. One way led towards the town, and not even John was dumb enough to head in that direction.  The other way then was the only direction John could have gone.

Unless John decided not to stick to the road at all… No… John hated riding through the woods in the dark.  Especially alone. It was dangerous for too many reasons. He wouldn’t be that reckless… but Arthur had no idea what John might be thinking or feeling right now.  He could only hope he knew John as well as he thought he did as he spurred his horse into a gallop once he’d reached the road.

 

* * *

 

John hoped he was going the right way.  He wasn’t too familiar with this area. But he was pretty sure he was going in the right direction. 

While he was in the saloon that night watching Arthur he hadn’t had much to do but listen to people talking.  They talked a _lot_ too.  Especially the more drunk they got. 

John had overheard some of the poker players talking about an even _bigger_ game that happened every couple of weeks out by the train station.  Some fancy pants travelers had started it up a while back when their train had become delayed for the night at the station.  Or so the story went. Now it was something of a tradition for them to meet up when they came and went on trips along the same route.  Some of the locals had even joined in the game from time to time, if they had the money. Apparently the pot could get pretty big at the end of it all. 

It probably wouldn’t be much by Dutch’s standards… but it was _something_ .  John could show that something _good_ had come out of his sneaking out (other than the fact that Arthur was _alive_ , but no one else seemed to care much about _that_ ).  Maybe then Dutch, Hosea, and the others would start seeing him as a useful member to the gang.  As an adult. If he could prove to everyone that he was a good asset to the gang then maybe… maybe they would overlook… other things. 

Maybe then if anyone in the gang had a problem with him and Arthur… Dutch would be more likely to defend them, rather than force one, or both, of them to leave.  Because, lets face it. If anyone would be forced to leave, it would be John, because he was useless. He needed to _prove_ that he wasn’t.  

He figured he was heading in the right direction when he heard the sound of the train whistle in the distance.  John spurred his horse faster, following the road pretty easily in the bright moonlight. Eventually he came across a large ranch.  There was a train station nearby, and even what seemed to be a small saloon that was lit up in the darkness.

Was this the place? There were plenty of horses hitched outside and seemed to be lots of activity for a place that seemed so out of the way.  John slowed his horse and made his way carefully towards the place. Before he could get too close though, he was stopped by an angry shout.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy!” a man came out from behind a shed where he’d been smoking… or on guard.  The rifle in his hand suggested the latter. John quickly put on his most ‘innocent’ expression and smiled at the man sheepishly.

“I’m just looking for a place to rest for the night, maybe get a bite to eat.  That’s a saloon, ain’t it, mister?” he asked, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

The man frowned slightly but seemed to relax. 

“You need a place to stay? Head into town, just a few miles more down the road that way.  This is a private affair,” the man told him. John replied to the suggestion with a bright smile.

“Okay, thanks mister.” 

“Yeah, yeah.  Get the hell out of here.”

John obediently turned his horse around and started back down the path he’d come.  Definitely the place. John kept going down the road until he was out of sight of the guard, and then turned off into the trees. He dismounted and hitched his horse where no one would spot the gelding easily from the road, and started making his way back towards the ranch on foot. 

While it wasn’t one of his best skills, John knew how to be sneaky when called for.  He made it all the way to the plain wooden building and peered in through one of the dingy windows. 

Definitely seemed like what those men at the other saloon had been talking about.  A big game of cards going on. A couple dozen men inside sitting at different tables, some in suits, other in more regular clothes.  But what looked like lot of money being passed around. A few hundred dollars, at least, by the looks of it.

It was far too late in the night for John to try to join the game.  He probably wouldn’t have been allowed to anyway, judging by the reaction of the guard outside.  Not to mention he had no money to gamble with. But if he watched and waited. Saw who won the most at the end of the night.  There was a good chance that John could follow them and rob them afterwards. Most of the men seemed quite drunk already and would be pretty easy targets…

“What the hell are you doing!”

John jumped at the shout and scrambled away from the window.  He tried to run from the man who’d shouted at him and ended up running right into another man who’d come up behind him.  He was grabbed in a bruising grip and his arm twisted painfully.

“I wasn’t doing nothing!  Lemme go!” John said through gritted teeth, and whimpered softly in spite of himself when his arm was yanked into an even more painful angle.

“I knew you was trouble the second I saw you,” a third man, the same guard that John had first come across on his way here, said as he approached, “Come on, boys.  Seems time someone teach this brat not to stick his nose where it don’t belong.”

The look in his eyes when he said that made John’s skin crawl.  He tried to shout but a big hand covered his mouth to silence him.  John thrashed and kicked but it only earned him a round of vicious laughter as they began dragging him away towards the barn.  


	6. Chapter 6

“Argh!  You little shit!” the man trying to silence John by clamping his hand over his mouth yelled when John bit him.  John had little time to enjoy his small victory though because he was immediately backhanded with enough force to send him sprawling in the dirt.  His head was spinning and he tasted blood in his mouth, but that didn’t stop John from attempting to scramble away once he was free. Unfortunately he barely had time to get to his hands and knees before something heavy slammed into his back. Sending him back down again with a pained cry.

The man’s knee dug into his back brutally and kept him pinned to the ground, forcing most of the air out of his lungs. His arms were grabbed and wrenched behind him once more.  John tried to shout for help, but a rag of some kind was shoved between his teeth and tied behind his head before he could make a sound. His wrists were also tied together, leaving him pretty much helpless.  But that didn’t stop him from struggling, even as the rough rope bit cruelly into his wrists, making them bleed.

When he was grabbed again, he kicked out wildly with his legs.  He landed one good hit to one of the men’s groins, sending him to his knees, cursing.  Another man kicked him hard in the stomach in retaliation, making John double over as he gasped for breath.  Trying not to vomit, since it would probably only end up choking him with the gag still in his mouth.

“Bastard! Going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget,” growled one of the men.  John wasn’t even sure which one at this point, his head was pounding so badly. He was yanked up by the hair, the pain in his scalp making him shout, but it was effectively muffled by the gag.  Then he was thrown over some kind of table unceremoniously and held down by a bruising grip. John squeezed his eyes shut tightly, choking back his sobs. He refused to cry. Even when he felt unforgiving hands fumbling at his belt.

This couldn’t be happening… it couldn’t…

It didn’t seem real.  It was bad dream. Had to be.  Please, let him wake up now…

The men’s cruel laughter was cut short when one of them suddenly screamed.  Something hot and wet splashed against John’s face, but he was too afraid to open his eyes.  The hands holding him down released him abruptly and John slid to the floor immediately without the support.  The men were shouting, in anger or fear, he wasn’t sure. John couldn’t understand anything over the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears.  Another man cried out in agony, choking and guttural. John flinched, curling into a ball on the floor, trembling.

He finally managed to crack his eyes open.  Blood dripped into them, almost blinding him. But he could see two men grappling.  One had a clear advantage and managed to knock the other man down to the ground but he didn’t stop there. He kept punching the man on the ground.  Over and over. Even once he'd stopped moving, stopped breathing, the other man continued to hit him. The sound of cracking bone and squishing meat made John sick to his stomach.

John squeezed his eyes shut again.  Not wanting to see anymore. He heard a dull thud as the dead man was finally dropped to the floor, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.  John curled in on himself as much as he could, a whimper of fear escaping him despite his best efforts.

Someone was speaking… the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t understand the words.  The gag was suddenly removed making it easier for John to breathe at least. He took a shuddering breath, then another, swaying where he knelt. The smell of blood and gore was almost overpowering.  He was shaking so hard he felt rattled down to his bones. He flinched when he felt the cold press of a knife against his inner arm, but it was only to cut the ropes away. Then, to his surprise, warm gentle hands framed his face.

“John?  Can you hear me? Are you hurt?  Come on now, I need you to look at me…”

John blinked opened his eyes again slowly, disbelief warring with hope.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Johnny. Can you walk? We’ve gotta get out of here,” Arthur replied, brushing John’s hair back away from his face tenderly.  A choked sound caught in his throat, but John managed a shaky nod. Arthur attempted to help him to his feet, only for John’s legs to give out on him half way.  The older man didn’t hesitate simply sweeping John up into his arms after that, and he buried his face into Arthur’s neck.

“I’ve got you,” he heard Arthur whisper before he finally blacked out.

 

* * *

 

When John eventually woke, he wasn't sure where he was.  He blinked his eyes open slowly to find himself laying inside a worn canvas tent.  Judging by the angle of the sunlight light filtering in through the closed flaps it was at least mid day.  He was bundled inside a bedroll and covered up with several blankets. It should have been stifling, but instead he found himself burrowing more securely into them.  He inhaled the scent of gun oil and tobacco lingering in the fibers and let the familiarity of the smell calm him.

He hurt.  A lot. Proof that what had happened last night wasn’t a dream, as much as he wished it was.  His head was throbbing with a terrible headache. His stomach and face felt bruised and swollen.  His wrists were stinging something fierce, but when he examined them he saw they were wrapped up in clean bandages. The clothes he was wearing were also not his own.  Too big, but carrying a very familiar scent that had John relaxing in spite of himself.

Arthur… he’d found him... just in time.  Arthur had stopped them before they could… John squeezed his eyes shut as a shiver rolled down his spine.  Arthur had stopped it. Arthur had saved him. He’d watched Arthur beat a man to death with his bare hands… hands that had touched him afterwards so gently.  Had literally carried him to safety. Had cleaned him up and changed his bloodied clothes. Had cared for his wounds… Arthur…

Where was he now?

John forced his eyes open again, even though he felt so exhausted he could probably sleep for a whole week.  He sat up carefully, wincing slightly as he cradled his bruised stomach, but nothing felt broken at least.  He scooted to the front of the tent and eased back one of the flaps. The bright sunlight blinded him for a few seconds, but he eventually managed to focus on the outside world. 

The camp was set up the middle of a small clearing surrounded by trees.  Not the main camp, which made sense since John hadn’t woken in his normal tent.  He saw Arthur’s stallion and his own gelding grazing peacefully at the edge of the clearing, and it eased something in John’s chest. A campfire crackled not too far away from the front of the tent, but John couldn’t see any sign of Arthur himself. 

He was just beginning to get nervous when he heard the snap of twigs and soft rustle of leaves as someone approached through the woods.  John tensed out of instinct, but relaxed immediately when Arthur finally came into view. The man was carrying a couple of pheasants, recently plucked, in one hand and a varmint rifle in the other.  But he stopped mid step when he noticed that John was awake and up.

“Hey there,” Arthur said gently.  He offered John a faint smile as he dropped the birds down by the fire, approached, and knelt down carefully in front of him, “How are you feeling?”

“I… alright…” John managed to whisper faintly.  Even though truthfully he felt far from alright.  He still felt shaky and… fragile… in a way he never really had before.  Arthur reached out slowly to brush his hair back from his forehead.

“That’s a nasty bump you’ve got there.  Had me worried,” Arthur said, and to his shame, John felt his throat going tight with emotion.  His eyes started to water and his breath hitched.

“I…” John started but he didn’t know what to say.  A shudder rocked him and he bit his lip to stifle a sob that tried to escape but he wasn’t successful.  Arthur said nothing, he simply opened his arms, and John didn’t hesitate falling into them. He held onto Arthur as tightly as he could, crying into the older man’s shoulder, and Arthur let him.  A warm hand running up and down his back while the other gently combed through his hair.

“I’ve got you.  You’re safe.”

 

* * *

 

Once he’d calmed down again, he returned to the tent to lay down.  Arthur insisted, saying he needed more rest. John had tried to deny it but the wide yawn that escaped him even as he protested derailed his argument. 

At least this time the tent flaps were left open so that John could keep an eye on the older man.  Arthur went about cleaning and seasoning the birds he’d caught, and impaled them on sticks to roast over the fire. The smell of the cooking meat made John’s stomach grumble, reminding him how long it had been since he’d had a decent meal.  Once Arthur was done, he joined John inside the tent, sitting down carefully and stretching out his legs. The slight wince Arthur made as he did this made John frown slightly.

“Are you hurt?” John asked in concern, carefully sitting up.  Arthur, of course, waved away his concern.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and as John continued to frown at him, he sighed and relented, “Got shot on that last job.  It’s already taken care of, so don’t look so worried. Just stings, is all.”

John’s frown deepened.  He knew getting shot in the leg did a little more than ‘sting’ a little.  Not to mention the fact that Arthur had also been shot in the side barely a week prior. Arthur had been running around on a wounded leg, hunting and taking care of him, when he should be resting himself and healing.  John couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“I’m sorry…” John whispered, only for Arthur to shake his head.

“I said don’t worry about it.  It’s fine. Now come here, and lay down,” the older man replied, patting his good thigh.  John was a little surprised, but not displeased. He scooted closer to the other man and laid down to rest his head in Arthur’s lap.  Arthur’s fingers immediately found their way into John’s hair, petting him gently, and he closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

John drifted off to the feeling and only roused again when Arthur moved to retrieve the cooked birds.  John made a small sound of protest but Arthur hushed him, gently moving him back to the small nest of blankets and brushing a kiss along his hairline, before leaving the tent. 

John watched patiently from his cocoon as Arthur cut up the meat, set it on a plate, then threw the bones out into woods.  Soon Arthur returned to the tent with the food and a bottle of some liquor. Once the older man was seated comfortably, John climbed into Arthur’s lap.  Arthur didn’t protest. He simply waited for John to get settled, and resting comfortably against the older man’s broad chest. Arthur grabbed one of the blankets to wrap around them both, then held the plate while John ate.  Arthur didn’t eat much himself, and John was too tired and hungry to protest much about it.

Arthur _did_ open the bottle and took a few deep pulls from it before offering it to John as well.  While John wasn’t used to drinking much hard liquor, he gladly accepted it this time. The alcohol burned down his throat and settled warm in his stomach.  As he drank, the various aches and pains in his body seemed to fade away. Or maybe that was just due to Arthur’s care. Soft lips pressed against his brow and murmured words of comfort and safety. Gentle hands kept touching him oh so carefully.  Fingers running through his hair or down his back. Eventually John caught one of them and brushed a kiss over the scabbed and bruised knuckles. 

Day slipped into night, and John cried a few more times, overcome with emotion from everything that had happened.  Arthur held him through it all. Eventually John fell asleep again, curled up safe in Arthur’s strong arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the porn. Skip this chapter if you don't want to read it for whatever reason.

John woke to the sound of rain pattering softly against the roof of the tent.  He sighed and stretched slowly under the warm covers, taking stock of how he felt.  He felt better. Mostly. He was still a bit sore, but he hadn’t been all that badly injured to begin with.  All things considered, he’d gotten off lightly. He certainly wasn’t injured enough that he couldn’t ride if he needed to.  But to his surprise they’d remained camped in the little clearing for a few days now, and Arthur seemed in no hurry to return to the gang. Honestly, John wasn’t in any hurry either.

He cracked his eyes open lazily.  Arthur was sitting not too far away (because the tent wasn’t all that big to begin with).  He had his journal open in his lap and he was busy writing or drawing away in it, oblivious to John’s staring.  Or at least pretending to be. A lantern was set up beside him, casting the elder man’s profile in a warm glow in the otherwise gloom.

God, he was so damned handsome and didn't even seem to realize it.  When John’s heart ached, just looking at him. 

He was dressed in a simple button down shirt, the first few buttons open at the collar for comfort, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and his feet were bare. He appeared utterly relaxed and content as he moved the pencil effortlessly across the paper.  A few strands of honey colored hair had fallen over his brow into his eyes, but he didn’t bother brushing them back.

John longed to do it for him… he longed to do a lot of things… To run his fingers across the strong stubbled jaw.  To kiss those slightly parted lips. To unbutton the shirt the rest of the way and let his hands roam freely across Arthur’s broad chest.  To let his fingers slide underneath the waistband of Arthur’s trousers and…

John bit his lip.  The sting from where it had been split from a harsh fist should have been sobering, but all it made him think about was how Arthur’s tongue might feel probing the small wound.  Soothing it with gentle licks before delving deeper into his mouth to taste him fully.

Heat began to pool in John’s belly. 

“That was really stupid of you, you know,” Arthur said out of the blue, startling John out of his contemplation.  His eyes snapped back up to the older man’s face, but Arthur still wasn’t looking at him. He continued working in his journal like he hadn’t even spoken, and it made John wonder if he’d imagined it entirely.  But then Arthur continued, “Running off like that… what the hell were you even thinking?”

The reprimand was expected.  Honestly, John had been expecting it long before now.  But so far Arthur hadn't even mentioned the trouble he’d gotten into, except to ask him how he was healing up.  Arthur had probably been waiting until he was feeling better before laying into him. Because Arthur might be a hard man, but he wasn’t cruel. Still, the words, expected though they might be, made John’s throat close up and his eyes burn.  Any defense or reasoning for his actions seemed insignificant in the light of everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry…” John managed weakly instead.  The pencil on the paper paused, and Arthur closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“If you ever… ever run off like that again, John… so help me…” Arthur whispered almost too low for him to hear.  The grip the older man had on the pencil was so tight, it was a wonder it didn’t snap in half. But then Arthur took another deep breath and relaxed.  Probably through sheer force of will. When he opened his eyes he simply went back to working in his journal again.

Apparently he’d said his peace…

John chewed on his lip as he continued to watch Arthur draw.  He was pretty sure the man was drawing, at least, judging by the movements of the pencil across the paper.  The quiet moment stretched on, and John was loathe to disturb it. But at the same time he didn’t want to leave things at… that…

“Arthur?” he said softly, and the older man hummed to let him know he was listening, “I… I love you…”

The pencil stopped moving again.  Arthur was still for a very long time before letting out a heavy sigh. 

“You could do so much better than me, kid…” Arthur finally replied and John almost laughed at those words. Someone better than Arthur?  Who else had been better to him in his whole damned life? No one had been kinder… protected him as fiercely… or taught him so much… Yet the look on his face made it clear that Arthur really believed that…

John sighed as he sat up, letting the blankets wrapped around him fall away.  He scooted closer to Arthur and though the older man didn’t look at him directly John could tell he was watching him from the corner of his eye. 

John looked down at the book in Arthur’s lap and saw that the man had been sketching a drawing of _him_.  While he’d been sleeping.  It was… really good. Arthur had obviously put a lot of care and… love… into it.  John couldn’t help but marvel how a man whose knuckles were still scabbed raw from beating a man to death, could also create something so beautiful.  A killer’s hands… an artist’s hands… Arthur Morgan had always been a fascinating contradiction that way.  John wanted so badly for those same hands to touch him like a lover...

He rested one of his own hands warmly on Arthur’s bare forearm and leaned in to brush his lips against the man’s stubbled jaw. 

“I’m not a kid… and I want _you_ ,” John said firmly.  He heard the book shut and the clatter of the pencil on the ground as it was set aside.  They moved almost in unison as John climbed into the older man’s lap and Arthur’s hands came to rest on his hips, drawing him in closer.  Arthur raised his gaze to look at him, and his beautiful green eyes burned so intensely John’s body felt like it was being ignited in flames. 

Their lips came together and it wasn’t soft or careful this time.  Instead it was hot. Desperate. One of John’s hands clutched at Arthur’s strong shoulder while the other found its way to the back of his neck.  As though he could kiss Arthur forever if he only held on tight enough. Thankfully Arthur seemed to have no intention of pulling away.  His tongue delved past John’s parted lips to take control of the kiss, as his hands roamed freely up and down John’s body.  Firm but gentle at the same time as they slid up John’s back and over his shoulders, then back down to grip his ass.

John whimpered into Arthur’s mouth and his hands fumbled to unbutton Arthur’s shirt as quickly as he could.  He’d been dreaming about this for so damned long, he almost couldn’t believe it was really happening. The feeling of warm skin and hard muscle beneath his hands was intoxicating.  A deep groan of approval rumbled in the older man’s chest, and Arthur’s heart pounded like a drum against his palm. John felt like he could spend hours mapping out every inch of flesh and bone with his fingertips.  Maybe with his mouth too. Teasing the rose colored nipples, and feeling how the strong muscles flexed with every movement Arthur made.  He wanted to see if he could pull even more sounds of pleasure from Arthur's lips...

It was beyond satisfying to feel the beginnings of Arthur’s erection pressing against his ass, and John ground down firmly into the older man’s lap.  His own cock strained at the front of his trousers, aching as he rubbed himself wantonly against the muscles of Arthur’s stomach.

“Jesus, John… slow down…” Arthur murmured against his mouth.  The stubble of his beard rubbing John’s lips and cheeks a little raw as they kissed, but in the best way possible.  As much as he might want to slow things down. Savor this moment. John wasn’t really sure if he could. 

“Please, Arthur… please…” he whimpered, rocking in Arthur’s lap.  He found a rhythm that felt good. Too good maybe. But the deep groan his movements pulled from Arthur was the most amazing thing he’d ever heard.  Because _he_ had caused it.   _He_ was the one giving Arthur pleasure.

“Alright… okay just… fuck…” Arthur said, shifting his hands underneath John’s thighs and lifting him up.  John made a sound of protest, but Arthur moved quickly, despite his wounded leg. Rising up with John and depositing him on his back on the bedroll and blankets. 

Kneeling over John, Arthur shrugged his shirt and suspenders off his shoulders, then began working open his belt buckle.  John scrambled to do the same. Simply ripping his own shirt off over his head in his haste, and quickly shoving his trousers down his legs.  As John kicked the offending material away, he gazed up at Arthur who was also now naked. While this wasn’t the first time they’d been naked together, it was definitely the first time John had ever seen Arthur like _this_.  His cock thick, full, and… big.  He’d always known Arthur was well endowed, but fully erect he was hung like a bull and John wasn’t going to lie.  It was a bit intimidating.

“Oh…” John whispered, his eyes wide and his lips parted a bit in awe as he took in everything.  Including the very satisfied smirk Arthur was currently giving him as John shamelessly ogled. 

“You just want to look?  Or you want to keep going?” Arthur eventually asked, amusement as well as a genuine question in his tone.  John blinked, coming out of his short daze, and gave an eager nod. He sat up a little even as Arthur stretched out beside him.  Laying down on his side to keep some of the pressure off his wounded leg. John reached out a hand, hovering just shy of touching Arthur’s lower belly. 

“Can I?” John asked, still feeling a bit shy despite his eagerness. 

“Course,” Arthur reassured softly, reaching out to lay a warm hand on John’s hip, his thumb drawing small circles against the sensitive skin of his upper thigh.  John responded by pressing his palm flat against Arthur’s stomach, slowly trailing his fingers down, following the trail of hair down to his groin.

John was always so surprised how warm Arthur was.  But the heat radiating from the older man’s skin was almost insignificant compared to when John carefully brushed his fingers along the underside of Arthur’s cock.  There the skin was practically feverish. Like hot steel wrapped in velvet as John carefully closed his hand around the length. God, he could practically feel Arthur’s pulse through the ridged flesh. 

“Take your time,” Arthur said softly, reassuring and encouraging at the same time. It eased John’s nerves a bit and he started to stroke Arthur’s cock experimentally.  It was surprisingly… awkward. He’d never touched another man’s cock before. He might have plenty of experience handling his own, but the different angle, not to mention Arthur’s girth, made it practically a foreign experience. 

To make things a bit easier on himself, John wrapped his other hand around Arthur as well, so he didn’t have to try to fit everything in one hand.  He stroked Arthur from base to tip. His thumbs circling around the head, gathering some of the fluid leaking from the slit to ease some of the friction.  He experimented by squeezing Arthur gently on one upstroke, earning him a deep moan from the older man. John smiled, pleased with himself.

“Is that good?” he asked, and Arthur nodded.  Watching John through hooded eyes as he continued to play with Arthur’s cock.  After a while John found the courage to ask, “Will you show me? How you like it?”

Arthur nodded again, and carefully took John’s hands in his own.  He moved one down to his balls and he closed his other around John’s hand still holding his cock.  John’s breath hitched a little as Arthur’s large hand engulfed his own, and then the older man started to guide his hands.  Showing John how to caress and roll his balls gently in his palm, at the same time tightening their grip slightly around his shaft and twisting a little on the upstroke. 

“That’s it…” Arthur praised, moaning deeply.  After a while Arthur’s hands fell away leaving John to continue touching him alone and… it was amazing.  Watching Arthur’s face go slack with pleasure and his breath quicken. Seeing his skin break out in sweat and feeling the little twitches his hips made as he attempted not to simply fuck himself into John’s fist.  He squeezed Arthur’s balls a little tighter and the growling moan Arthur made in response was almost enough to make John cum right then and there.

“Arthur…” John whimpered, squirming.  His cock throbbing between his legs. So hard it was almost painful. 

Arthur looked at him and smiled.

“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?  Come here…” he said with a warm chuckle.  Arthur shifted to lay on his back and encouraged John to straddle his hips once again. This time when their cocks brushed together, nothing between them, pleasure jolted through John’s body like a bolt of lightning. 

“Oh… god…” he panted, bracing his hands against Arthur’s warm chest for support.  Arthur soothed a hand down his hip and then reached between them to take both their cocks in one large hand.  He palmed John’s ass, squeezing gently, encouraging him to move. To thrust into his fist, their cocks rubbing together, as Arthur stroked them both. The sudden overload of stimulation was almost more than John could take. Very quickly he was reduced to a shaking, whimpering and moaning mess guided by Arthur’s  experienced hands.

“God, John… if you could see yourself...” Arthur breathed, sounding wrecked, and the praise made John flush with impossible heat.  Burning through his veins like wildfire.  Working its way through his body downwards as he began to feel a very familiar tightening in his groin. Only it had never felt this intense before…

“Arthur… I… oh fuck…” John whimpered helplessly.  Feeling overwhelmed.

“Come on.  I’ve got you...” Arthur’s encouragement was the only thing John needed to push him over the edge and he came with a choked cry.  Painting Arthur’s hand and stomach in semen, and the sight alone was almost enough to make John cum again even as he still shook from his first orgasm.  With a deep groan, Arthur came as well. His whole body going taunt and flexing beneath John, and the sight left him even more breathless.

John practically collapsed against Arthur’s chest after that, trembling and panting.  Neither of them apparently cared about the mess, as Arthur eased him down slowly with gentle touches and soft kisses.  John felt practically boneless in the afterglow, but Arthur didn’t seem to mind him using him as a pillow. Eventually the older man reached for his discarded shirt and wiped them both down a bit.  John would probably be grateful for that later on but right now he made soft noises of complaint at being forced to move.

Arthur chuckled warmly.

“Spoiled brat,” he whispered, but there was nothing but fondness in his tone.  John merely shrugged, making himself comfortable on Arthur's chest.  Arthur sighed softly but didn’t complain. He simply reached for a blanket and tucked it around John. 

John fell asleep listening to Arthur’s heartbeat under his ear, feeling more content than he’d ever had in his life.  


	8. Chapter 8

It was another couple of days before Arthur started packing up the horses.  A part of him was surprisingly reluctant to do so. Or maybe not so surprising.  After everything that had happened it might have been more surprising if he hadn’t at least _thought_ about what it might be like for him and John to strike out on their own instead of returning to the gang.

Depending on the reception they received when they returned, that might still be an option.  But for now… The gang wasn’t just a group of outlaws all joined together in an effort to survive.  Not to him. They were a family, and right now Arthur wasn’t ready to give that up. He didn’t think John was either.

Though the expression on John’s face when Arthur had told him how he’d punched Dutch had been utterly priceless.  Arthur wasn’t naive enough to believe he’d get away with that scott free, but… Dutch had deserved it. Arthur thought of it a little as payback for when Dutch had struck _him_ all them years ago.

The ride back took a few hours at best.  It was kind of surprising that no one from the gang had managed to stumble across them during the time they’d been gone.  Arthur wasn’t ready to believe that might be because no one from the gang had even been looking for them. Rather he chalked it up to his own ability to get good and lost when he really wanted to be.

Bill Williamson noticed them riding in first, since he was on guard duty. 

“They’re back!” his shout was immediately met with a flurry of activity.  Most of the gang members setting aside whatever they’d been doing to rush out and greet them.  Especially John, who appeared a little overwhelmed with all the attention. But it eased a slight knot of worry that had been lingering in Arthur’s chest.

“Boy, you aren’t getting off kitchen duty for the rest of your life!” Arthur overheard Miss Grimshaw saying, even as she was trying to hug the life out of the younger man.  John looked towards him helplessly, but Arthur offered no aid. Simply smiling and letting the woman usher John away while he turned to Hosea.

“It’s good to see you both all right,” Hosea offered.  He looked as though he might want to hug Arthur too, but he refrained from doing so.  Probably unsure of how it would be received. Arthur would probably be forgiving Hosea someday soon, but for now he was still a little bitter about the whole damned mess.  Especially given what had almost happened to John…

"I got to him in time," Arthur replied, leaving it at that.  If John wanted to tell people what had nearly happened to him, that was his business.  But Hosea still looked pained. 

"Thank you, Arthur," he said, sounding genuine at least.  Arthur nodded and glanced around the camp.  Seemed like most were there just going about their business.

“You didn’t even send anyone out after us?” Arthur asked, his tone more resigned than upset. 

“Of course we did!” Hosea replied, sounding genuinely distressed by the thought, “Most of us went looking.  Even Dutch. When we couldn’t find you after a few days… Dutch said you’d both be back when you were ready.”

Arthur frowned at that, even though… that was essentially what had happened.  He sighed deeply and looked around second time.

“Where’s Dutch?” he asked, since the older man was one of the few who hadn’t come out to greet them.  The Count was with the other horses, so Arthur knew Dutch had to be around somewhere.

“His tent, last time I saw him,” Hosea responded, and Arthur nodded.  He allowed his hand to rest warmly on Hosea's shoulder as he passed by, on his way into camp.  If he heard Hosea’s breath hitch a little when he did so, he pretended not to notice.

Dutch was indeed in his tent when Arthur arrived.  He was sitting on his cot, studying an old yellowed piece of paper in his hands.  Seemingly lost in his thoughts. It was only when Arthur stepped inside the tent that Dutch finally looked up to him instead.

“Hello, Arthur,” he said, sounding oddly subdued.  For him at least. Dutch’s nose was bruised, swollen, and looked painful.  Arthur had been expecting to see that. What Arthur _hadn’t_ expected was the impressive black eye that the older man was also sporting.  Dutch must have guessed what his questioning look was about and answered with only one word.

“Hosea.”

Ah… he supposed that made sense.  The part of Arthur that still looked up to and respected Dutch felt like he should apologize… or something.  But the part of him that knew Dutch had deserved it fought that urge down.

“I ain’t sorry for that,” he finally said.  Dutch raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’d be disappointed if you were,” he answered, and that surprised Arthur a little, “Where’s John?”

“He’s around. Probably being put to work by Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur answered.   _He’s safe, no thanks to you_ , was what he didn’t say.  But Dutch seemed to hear it in his tone nonetheless.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Dutch replied.  Arthur frowned.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he stated sharply.  Dutch nodded.

“I am well aware of that.  Still, thank you,” the older man said, and Arthur wasn’t sure what to say after that.  This… wasn’t going the way he thought it would.

Arthur sighed heavily and looked out towards the camp. Delaying while he tried to think of what he wanted to say.  For days he’d gone over and over this in his head. Of what to say to Dutch when they finally saw one another again, but now that they were here, nothing seemed to come to mind. 

It was only then that he realized there was something different about the camp.

“Where’s Trevor and Clark?” he asked.  He hadn’t seen the two men when they’d rode in.  If they’d just been out on a job that was one thing, but their tents seemed to be missing as well.

“When everyone was informed of the… situation… Mr. Jones and Mr. Davis were quite adamant that they weren’t going to ‘run with a gang that had a pair of poofs in it’.  In their words. So they were politely asked to leave,” Dutch replied. Arthur turned back to Dutch sharply.

“Asked by whom?”

“By me,” Dutch answered simply.  Arthur stared at Dutch with wide eyes.  

“What the hell, Dutch? After everything...” He said, exasperated.  Dutch shook his head.

“Maybe you'll understand when you're older.  Take care of him, Arthur,” Dutch replied, looking back down to the paper held so carefully in his hand, and Arthur’s jaw snapped shut with a click, “Just… take care of him.”

Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that, so he simply nodded.

“Of course.” Always.  With that, Arthur turned and walked away, leaving Dutch to his solitude.  

 

* * *

 

Dutch didn’t watch Arthur leave.  Already lost in the past as he stared down at the old letter before him.  The paper was yellow and fragile, stained brown with old blood, making it practically illegible.  But he’d already memorized the words on it long ago. They had been practically branded into his mind ever since he had found it.  Unmailed.  In the pocket of a body, hanging by the neck, from the branch of a tree. Beaten so badly that the once beloved face was nearly unrecognizable.

> _Dutch,_
> 
> _I’m sorry I couldn't meet you to tell you this in person.  But Daddy, well…_
> 
> _He saw us.  I’m almost certain of it now.  He’s been acting really funny lately and it’s probably best if you don’t come by for a while.  I’m not sure what he might do._
> 
> _Give me a few days.  I need to get some things together.  Then I’ll meet you at the train station.  We’ll run away together, just like we talked about.  
>  _
> 
> _No matter what, I don’t regret it.  Not one bit._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _Timothy  
>  _

Dutch sighed heavily, carefully folding the letter and putting it away.  He could only pray the world would be kinder to Arthur and John...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for reading and the wonderful feedback. There's a SLIGHT chance there might be more added to this story. Probably mostly smutty or fluffy one-shots since I just love the idea of Arthur teaching John new things. But for now, that's all folks.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with Fanart to go along with this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961298
> 
> If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving kudos. If you didn't, please consider letting me know why, so I can improve my writing. Thank you :)


End file.
